


dangerous hounds and chilly iceboxes

by minutemaid



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: For Science!, don't bully me ok-, i'm not the greatest at writing, so sorry for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minutemaid/pseuds/minutemaid
Summary: i love wilson but damn do i love him as a badass too**wilson runs around the forest to get stuff for more fireplaces, but it's too little too late when he realizes how dark it was getting, and how he was beginning to melt, doomed to perish, he thought so, until a verdant arrived just in time to save him.





	dangerous hounds and chilly iceboxes

**

melting was always a problem for snowfallen.

whenever they'd stray from home for supplies, whether it be meat, weapons, tools, enemies or alike, it'd always been a problem. because obviously, when ice and snow, which is their main core besides skin and blue-white blood, (it varies) mixes anywhere near with lava, fire, or just being left out somewhere not in their natural habitat, it melts.

so when wilson stays out a little too long on a day in the woods for more firewood for fire (that they obviously strayed away from but obviously staying in the light it provided, besides willow, and her peculiar way of being able to actually stand in it for who knows how long) and actually believes he can last a little longer than he thought he could this time, he ends up leaning against a tree, but thankfully not enrapturing its' beauty with frost from the tips of his fingers from the help of his gloves, and trying hard to focus on finding a snow biome, whether it be his own or another.

his vision blurred and his thoughts blanked, still looking around rapidly for a source of white, before spotting a verdant that could possibly have an icebox back at their camp.

grey hair stood out from the green lacing their clothes, before their eyes locked onto his his, and then looking upon his state, giving a slight shell-shocked look, before approaching, and speaking, "well, you seem to be in deep trouble, might one suggest an icebox? i have one at camp, shall you come with me?" they asked, and he only gave a quiet 'yes please' in turn, before he nodded off in exhaustion.

**

awaking in a icebox, even as an adult, still scared him to the high heavens, should they even exist, opening his eyes to see only pitch black darkness was possibly his worst fear, ever since the grue was a thing. after seeing the darkness, he'd expect a set of white eyes surrounding him from each and every direction until the grue finally made their move and struck him.

which, of course, didn't happen, because as of every moment this had happened, he realized he was in a icebox again, feeling the ice hit his back with a refreshing cold and realizing he'd been saved by a verdant, or his own kind.

he always ended up with the icebox on it's box, which was always nice of them, so then he wouldn't toss and turn in his sleep and buckle the entire thing down in his sleep, startling himself into a full-on, raging panic-attack, waking up thinking he was being murdered in his sleep or more things along the lines of that.

kicking the top with forceful movements in order to break the ice he already knows is there, since, y'know, that's the science of an icebox.

once he heard it shatter, feeling the ticks of ice fall on his face and causing him to flinch at it's touch, he knew the basic drill, get out, talk, directions, home. that's what it always was, so once he was out, he stepped up onto the iceboxs' rim, before jumping down gracefully, and realizing how hot it was outside, the sun glimmering onto him with a warm touch, feeling it seep into his skin, but it didn't hurt this time.

he looked around, seeing no one was here, maybe he should just wait here? the verdants' seemed to have left, so, in this turn of events, he just scratched an itch on his face, and sat in the light of the fire, the day was beginning to become dusk, watching the sun fall down to the hills in the distance. it was peaceful.

                     -----------------------

the verdants' were back.

with, well, 3 red-hounds, along with an added bonus of 4 more normal ones, and 1 dying blue-hound.

summer was such a great time of the year, he thought to himself as he ran with the grey-haired verdant beside him, the forest burning all around the verdants' and himself, the indistinguishable smell of charcoal-black smoke around them, causing the snowfallens' eyes to tear up in pain, huffing in the air for more oxygen, on the verge of losing it and just fist-fighting the damn things.

the verdants' took a sharp turn into a cave, and thankfully, somehow the hounds didn't notice, but they did pause, sniffing the air with their moist noses, before one of them started barking, and looking directly their way, but he noticed.. there was a rabbit right infront of the cave.

he pointed to go lower into the cave to the verdants', pointing at the rabbit and signalling it might move into here.

they all took the chance, and began slowly walking down carefully, as to not alert the hounds with any kind of noise like a sudden crack in the ground, but the hounds had unpaused, already starting their chase, and they all just ran, and as such, the snowfallen followed.

squeaking faded into the distance the farther they went, but even so, it wouldn't go completely.

neither would the barking.

the verdants' and the single snowfallen met a tunnel, not one, but two. one of the verdants' pointed to the left one, a few others pointed to right, and then another few pointed to the left, so, looking back, the snowfallen swore he saw shadows, shoving them into the caves' dark tunnels.

the grey-haired verdant lit a torch, and passed a few around to the others, and even to him.

"i never go out unprepared." the man said, giving a singular nod, before they all ventured further down into the cave, one making sure to leave a trail of small sticks, not noticable by hounds, but noticable by them, enough to make their way back, unless they're running like mice through the caves' tunnels, then it wouldn't be really useful, but it still helped, he supposed.

one of the verdants'- oh jesus, he almost screamed out 'SPIDER!' he didn't notice that one- it was a child-sized spider, covered in green cloaks, how come on this entire walk he- oh, nevermind- the verdant(?) chittered, "it's spooky in here. maybe we should play 'i spy' until the doggies' go away!" 

the grey-haired verdant gave a look, before giving it a rest, and nodding with a sigh, "of course, webber, do what you like." and so, 'webber' (was that nickname? it was quite.. coincidental.) decided to looked around, before giving his immediate ask, "i see-whoops- spy, with my little eye.. grey!" he smirked, thinking this was the hardest to guess, but wilson just smiled, giving his earnest opinion.

"..the cave?" wilson answered, before webber shook his head. "nope! 2 more tries!" webber gave a smug look, if it was even possible, before wilson looked around the cave, and then to webber.

"huh, i really don't see anything grey besides the cave. maybe.. the dust on your head?" wilson shot back a smug look, before webber shook his head again, "wrong again, 1 more try!" webber smiled, and wilson rose a brow, "i really don't know, honestly." he looked to webber, who only laughed.

"the flint in your front pocket!" 

he doesn't know how he couldn't have guesses that, before he fished out the flint from it, showing it to webber, "this one?", and webber's head bobbed up and down, "yes sir!" he smiled wickedly, "wanna play another game?" webber asked, and wilson laughed, "yes, of course, webber." he turned to him, and just then felt webbers' bright shining smile bless him, and webber only continued.

"i spy with my little eye.. black!" webber pointed out, and wilson gave a small hum..

"your fur?" wilson asked, and webber put his fingers into an 'x' motion."wrong. try again!" he governed, and wilson nodded, before smirking evilly, "of course.." he looked at the darkness falling behind them, and put it out there, "the darkness?" dreadful, he may have been wrong, and he guesses he was, since webber only snickered, "horribly wrong!" he called, and wilson gave yet another hum, before looking around, and realizing something.

"my eye color!" he answered, and webber looked a bit shocked, "yeah! how'd you guess?" webber looked back at wilson, who shrugged.

"just thought about it."

"alright.. something.. blue!" webber looked at wilson aswell, who snorted, knowing this already, and wilson pursued with a hint of fondness, but also with a hint of self-righteousness in his voice.

"me!" wilson laughed, and webber nodded, "yeah! right again!" he jumped, now skipping along into the cave, before they look ahead.

it was a dead end.

"oh, no.." the grey-haired verdant cringed, before pressing around the walls, "dead end." maxwell tensed, "we need to go back, they must be gone by no-"

growling.

"perfect timing." a verdant with the features of an old woman, and a bun and glasses said before rolling their eyes, until the barking ensued.

the rabbit scrambled up to them, terrified clearly, before webber managed to catch him, panicking and putting him into his mouth, recieving a disgusted look from the woman and the grey-haired man beside her, and a mortified look from wilson who looked like he was about to jump out of his skin, and he thought his skin couldn't get any paler than it already was.

"mph hidmpgnn mht!" (i'm hiding it!) webber said, giving a slightly angry look, and turning to wilson, who was already melting out of fear from both the hounds and webber.

water dripped from his hands and forearm, streaking to his elbows and dropping to the floor, creating small puddles onto the ground as he shook violently, "we're going to die. we're going to die. we're all going to die, oh dear science, save us all." wilson was starting to panick, before webber was scolded by the woman silently, and the grey-haired man approached him with a slightly sympathetic look on him, "uh-"

the moment he started to speak, the hounds were right infront of them.

wilson felt rage surge in his veins, oh.

"go." wilson whispered, the grey-haired man taking a recap, and looking at him like he was crazy, before wilson got off from the wall, and grabbing a spear from a weapons bag he kept on his back, pointing it at the hounds. "all of you go when i get cornered. i'll keep them distracted." wilson said loud and clear, getting no complaints besides from webber who opened his mouth, but closed it after the woman scolded him slightly.

his brows furrowed in rage, before the hounds charged at him.

he got one as soon as they did so, stabbing it into it's head, but yelping in pain when one chomped down onto his left arm with razor-sharp teeth, and everyone ran past him probably terrified out of their minds for the poor man, and also thinking he was mad or something along the lines of that.

he stabbed the one biting him aswell, taking a second to yank the spear out of one of them, and he only managed to get it's neck, but it still killed them the same, howling in pain and turning over.

2 normal hounds down.

6 more to go, and the blue one was melting, so he wouldn't be a problem. so he guesses it's more like 5.

willow's going to be so depressed to find out her baby brother's dead from the verdants once they run to his base, he assumes they know where it is, whether they find his base by directions or theirs' is right next to his, he can't remember.

he pulled the spear from it's head, and water was spilling everywhere, it was almost like a shower..besides the purple blood mixed with it, like dye invading freshly cleaned clothes.

wilson always thought of the stupidest things when he was about to die.

his first pet frog, maxwell, it always bit him, never liked to be pet and always hid in his cage in safety. (it was good, because if he did let him take him out, he probably would have dissected him immediately, unable to resist the taboo of knowing everything.)

his first experiment, and how it blew up in his face for the first time, forseeing the rest of his life, really, and how all of his experiments never really turn to any sort of actuall success, and he always messes up somewhere in it.

his first love, wigfrid. she was kind've mean, red-hair always in a tight braid, she only ever ate meat and whenever she craved it, she asked him to go hunting with her, to which he always responded with a silent 'no, thanks.'. and he thinks she had this weird, thick accent, and had been a performer? he doesn't quite remember, she never told him much.

if only she could see him now..then she probably wouldn't have broken up with him for being a 'wimp'.

he almost chuckled, if it wasn't for the searing pain in his arm, pastel blue blood spilling from the hurt area.

wilson muffled his cry, hoping to not upset webber and get him running back, gritting his teeth and crying with tears in his eyes when hounds rip him apart, it would be a cruel sight to watch as, he, himself, is ripped apart too.

they scratched him all over, bleeding from all over, and he's sure most of them would leave scars, and he's definitely the bite will. he swung the spear, merely scraping the surface of a normal hounds' ear, before he took out one of it's legs to cripple it, and succeeding in doing so.

he's better in battle than science, he cringed at the thought.

wilson felt pain erupt from all around his body, and he realizes that the red hounds were burning his back, before he turned around, whipping his spear with him at the hounds, "gAH-" wilson screamed, feeling a normal hound rip into his left back leg, (he can't believe he was that stupid to turn around when fighting them) and he could only feel pain in those moments, blinding, shell-shocking, white and pure pain.

he turned around and jammed the spear into it's head, only to be met with yet another bite, this time, a red-hound jumped up and bit his shoulder, hoping to tear out some sort of chunk from him.

no.

he was already limping, he barely knows how in the name of science he wasn't dead unless it was just the pure adrenaline still running through him, but he can't drag himself anywhere if they cripple both legs. he'd already felt himself wobbling to stand up, only furious surges were helping him at this point, and the blue-hound had already died at this point now, turning into ice, but the red-hounds kept at melting it.

but luckily, they were the last three.

not so luckily.

wilson charged, slashing and slicing at the hounds, hurting them, but not killing, they seemed to also fuel on rage in battle, so he charged at a specific hound, it's possibly better to target a specific, killing them one by one. 

and after..he actually killed them, luckily, due to their internal bleeding, and the added bonus of the addicting feeling of killing them after he hurt him multiple times marched himself on, silently cheering himself in his head, he charged to the next one, yelling and screaming, before feeling his leg give out, it seemed he couldn't run for long, so he scrambled up and dodged the hound quickly before it could attack, dropping his spear in the process.

oh, no.

he ran to the other side of the caves' dead end, hoping to get them chasing after him, and hoping might have worked, really, since the miraculous feeling filled his body once they began running after him again, but he wouldn't risk getting after it now, he needed to get to the longer side before he actually tries anything, and so, he does, running as fast as he could until his leg learns to not give out this time, and they almost cornered him when he made it there.

but, he made sure he could first in that big head of his, and he actually fucking jumped atop the hounds, one howled in pain as it slumped to the ground, and the other fell over with it.

he ran to his spear, scraping his knees badly as he fell to the ground with it, before grasping at it's sticky handles laced with multiple types of blood, whether it be red rabbits' blood, his blood, or the hounds'.

wilson got up immediately, on his feet by the time the hounds were, and they ran after him in the blink of an eye, surely angry now, but, he swung to the side, and they crashed into the stone wall around them.

he actually laughed that time, but it ended up wheeze-like.

wilson took that time to slice his spear into ones' neck once he got back over, and it yelped in pain, turning into a gurgle as blood seeped from their mouth, and the room lit up with fire, thankfully, since his torch was running low and sitting on the other side of the room, barely covering the space now.

he'd almost forgotten about it, honestly.

the last hound was clearly peeved  now, he could feel its' hot, burning rage, but wilson swears it's probably just the hound next to him. god, he almost forgot he could probably die from melting if he doesn't die from bleeding out first.

the hound continued chasing him for a few minutes now, and he was cornered shortly after, but he didn't fear being cornered anymore. frankly, he was feeling righteous, and smirked smugly.

he could feel his spear pierce the hounds' skull, right inbetween it's stupid little eyes, and he laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until he couldn't laugh anymore, and it only turned into sobs.

wilson stopped, walked over to the other side of the room, grabbing his barely-alive torch, and walked back to the now on-fire hound, dipping his torch into the yellow-orangeish fire, and it licked at the wood angrily, wisps lighting it fully once more, before he smiled.

"i..hate..hounds.." he whispered to no-one, before looking at the path of sticks show the way out, and then to himself, shivering at how dull his blue veins had become on the bottom of his forearm, and back to the sticks once more.

"i'm coming willow." wilson said for finals, and let the sticks lead him.

**

he couldn't continue.

it was already night by the time he'd gotten out, and of course his torch was fine, but his body screamed at him during that entire walk already, yelling to rest, and rest, and rest some more, until he falls asleep and dies due to melting, or bleeding out.

he couldn't continue.

wilson sat down, feeling tears or water, he couldn't tell, probably tears, since they came from the corner of his eyes and run down his face, dripping to the ground, his parents would be so proud of him for being so strong, oh..

his father, wilson couldn't care less about his opinion, really, his father being a heartless bastard, but his mother was so much better than him, a truly beautiful woman, his mother, beautiful, graceful, loving. his mother was perfect, but he couldn't even remember her face.

he still remembers her name, 'wanda' and his bastard of a fathers' too, 'will', but he still, of course, hated that bastard.

oh, he'd gotten too lost into his thoughts.

wilson looked over at the stone wall, sounding a hum noise, before he leaned onto the stone wall next to him, grunting for a small moment, thankful for the support, and stood, feeling pain shoot through his entire body, but mostly on the bites.

he bit back a yell, as not to alert any spiders nearby, or even more hounds, and continued to try out walking on his own, taking a small step forward with his right leg away from the wall, and then another with his injured leg, the bitten one, and it didn't hurt as much, as long as he didn't put his entire body weight on it, and so, he just focused mainly on his right leg, and the next thing..how will he get home? 

well, their base wasn't far, he supposed, but his was, and maybe they had honey poultice, but..

no, he has to believe, that's how you get through this world- this hellish world, full of monsters of chaos that only want to hurt you around every corner, so, he believes. wilson believes in science, so he will live. science always helped him.

wilson limped faster, torch in his left hand, the arm that was bitten of course, and spear in his right hands' arm, which was..you can guess. not bitten.

he hadn't had time to look at how bad the injuries were, but he could look later, what he was thankful for was the cold night air, not refrosting him, but it paused the process of the melting, so he smiled, thinking..

science is the best.

**

he's melting now, the air couldn't keep him from it for long.

but, he is very close, a few melty blue hounds lay on a hill, dead since, from what he could tell with the dried blue blood seeping from their bodies and onto the spiked grass, yesterday, possibly from when they got back.

wilson reached the top of the hill, pretty much running to it, and saw..

no-one.

wilson was melting, though..

he whipped his head from the left to the right, and stepped down the hill, careful not to fall onto his own rump in the darkness and drop the torch, and then proceed to run up to the verdants' camp, and stop.

the icebox! 

wilson ran to it, being hit with a INCREDIBLY refreshing feeling of freezing cold once he opened it, and he immediately got in, scrambling to close it on his way in and ditch his torch outside after putting it out, since it was already low enough to do so, and sighed, already feeling recovery, but he still needed silk stitches, fresh water, and a towel to be truly fine. since, of course, his bites ached painfully, but not as much, and..actually, they were a lot less painful.

so, wilson sat there, on the verge of sleep, but he still fought against it in the end, until day.

and when he heard sniffling when he woke up, it was a gasp moments later, and furry, black-void hands made their way to open a door, and then, finally, an erupting, ground-shaking scream to top it off.

"GUYS! HE'S IN THE FREEZER!!! HE'S IN HERE!!" the small voice was so incredibly loud, he could already feel himself on the verge of a headache, so he groaned in pain, before a quiet 'sorry!'.

he heard loud footsteps, and when he opened his eyes, shell-shocked, and cringing looks all surrounded him and his terrible, horrific state, even the small furry creature..oh, now he remembers his name was webber.

everything else came rushing back to his head at that moment, too.

he winced, his head pounding at the pain, and the screaming, and then, it all lulled before him, and he passed out, hitting his head onto the iceboxs' wall.

**

something sharp was driving through his leg very painfully.

when he looked down, it appeared to be a make-do needle going through a rather horrible hound-bite, and he remembers the rest.

he threw his head back up to the ceiling of the tent he just realized he was in now, which alerted someones' attention, 'he's awake.' a small whisper, and then, the furry spider-boy, webber, stepped forward, and held his hand. "don't worry," he spoke, "i remember my first stitches, they're very painful, from what i remember. i cried so hard, i couldn't believe it, it was so painful, but my mom said it's probably because of the thickness-" webber was stopped by a wrinkly hand, and a small 'shh, maxwell's trying to work, dear.' he didn't stop holding his hand, but he did stop talking, and he chittered slightly, looking back and watching maxwell, before turning to wilson and whispering, "don't worry, if it hurts, yitou can squeeze my hand!" he backed away, and earned a sly look from the old woman, but he shrugged, and turned back to the stitches, only to be flinching at the sight of blood and at the intense squeezing of his hand, frost seeping onto his hands, becoming ice, it was interesting though, webber almost tore his hand away to look at how cool it was, he'd never truly met a snowfallen, he'd only heard about them in conversations between maxwell and mrs. wickerbottom!

he'd say..they're pretty dang awesome!

literally.

maxwell finished the final stitch, wiping off excess blood, and then turning to look up at wilsons' bitten left arm, before continuing to pour hot water onto the iced blood, watching wilson wince and squiggle in pain at the hot water that most would find luxury, with the added bonus of the injury, before he dabbed at it with a make-do towel of beefalos' wool, and wilson stopped, taking deep breaths' in and out as webber soothed him for emotional support during these moments.

here comes the hard part, which was so shortly after he put down the towel, finishing off the blood and grabbing the needle.

"this is the hard part, this will be more painful, so try not to wiggle." the grey haired man he heard earlier was named..maxwell! like his pet fro-

"NGH-" wilson clenched his teeth, holding webbers' hand harder than ever and putting an entire ice block around webbers' hand and his own, before webber only laughed and shrugged it off, to 'wickerbottoms' horror.

"webber!" wickerbottom yelped, only for webber to cringe, turning his head away, hoping to somehow avoid the lecture of a lifetime on how he shouldn't have held his hand for 'emotional support'.

a lecture he got, she rambled and rambled until soon after, wilson groaned in pain, "please, stop.. i have a headache.." wilson spoke, and wickerbottom looked a bit embarrassed, still maintaining posture and nodding, "of course." she said, backing off, and webber smiled with glee for getting out of a lecture wickerbottom will soon forget later after the snowfallen is done being fixed up.

maxwell continued to stitch, tearing into pieces of his skin and squeezing the wound closed, halfway through closing it, thin silk keeping it so, and each time he went through skin he heard a grunt from wilson, trying to keep in his yelps of pain to not alert anything nearby, which maxwell was thankful, and pretty much everyone else, obviously, for more enemies is a problem. stitching took precision, and one needs focus for that, not loud hisses of spiders and screaming.

he finished after a while, to wilsons' short-lived relief, sitting there until wickerbottom approached, "he needs to get out of that.. may we..?" she held up a bucket of slightly steaming water, which was basically death for him, and his worst fear.

wilsom nodded in permission anyway.

she took it, before turning to the ice-block, it was the size of a dinner plate, and wide as a thick book she'd read before, it was all about how to polish and take care of fancy shoes, she can't quite remember.

she poured it.

webber seemed to not care, but wilson did, clenching his teeth and trying so, so so hard not to make any more layers of ice than there already was, so he fiddled around with the tents cloth in thought, trying not to think of the boiling water now seeping onto his back painfully as it had been poured into the tent so now it was crawling into his clothes and oh how it burned-

okay okay- something else- uh- his first successful science project!

it.. ugh, was the machine maxwell made him build, practically forced him, he doesn't remember the last time he saw him, besides for when he went into the woods, and he just saw him, sitting in the summers' hot sun, not even caring about how hot it was, and wilson was sweating like hell.

it was kinda awkward how this guys' name is maxwell too..but he looked nothing like him! maxwell had black hair, no goatee, he didn't have actual ANTLERS sticking out from his head, he only wore the fanciest things he could make when he was in power, still king, so, no way this man was maxwell, because maxwell was a complete snob about everything, and he'd turn away indefinitely from having to look like this at all..

but who knows, he'll be wary around him.

he wouldn't wear his own clothes either if he had a choice, he'd rather be a normal human again, but his first winter was hell, so it made him.. this. a cold being damned to never feel the touch of warm water or even sit near a fire, let alone sit in the sun for more than a minute before melting in the slightest.

he almost didn't notice how wickerbottom had stopped webber and wilsons' hands still stuck, and now they just needed to tug to break free.

"will you do the honors?" wickerbottom smiled, to which wilson nodded, and gave a smile back, before he counted down, "alright webber, on 1..2..3!" 

they both yanked on their hands, pulling back in success, and wickerbottom gave a curt nod, "you may finish, now, maxwell." she said, and maxwell gave a nod back, grabbing the needle again, along with the silk in it, and continued to look towards wilsons' elbow.

"wickerbottom, i need to take off his shirt in order to get a full look at him, please get webber out from the tent, i don't want him seeing more than he needs to." maxwell hinted, and with a small laugh, she held webbers shoulders and turned him around, who complained on it as they walked out, asking why he had to, and wickerbottom just replied with 'it's privacy, dear.'

wilson felt his body be exposed quickly, to which he felt the urge to cover himself in extreme amounts, probably around using 300 blankets to stop maxwell's looks.

"yeesh, i thought those wounds were bad, it only gets worse, huh? are those all the scratches and wounds, or is there a other million scratches and wounds i don't know about?" maxwell asked, to which wilson looked away from his piercing eyes, and maxwell sighed, "where?" he spoke with exhaustion in his eyes, and he shrugged, "i feel them.. they feel like they're mostly.. everywhere, really." wilson shyly looked down, feeling embarrassed at this man seeing him half-nude now, and the fact that he'd probably have to see him more naked than this if he needed to see every wound to bandage it.

"yeah- so uh- you don't need to see, under.. right?-" wilson chuckled awkwardly, and maxwell gave a knowing look, "no, of course not, as long as there's no bites and aren't too deep, i suppose not."

wilson felt embarrassed no matter what he said.

maxwell grabbed the half-full bucket of water that thankfully wasn't the hot one, it was cold, and when maxwell poured it onto his wound, wilson shivered in his own ecstatic enjoyment, it helped soothe the burning pain in his wounds, feeling goosebumps rise up on his arms.

wilson waited until it stopped, and maxwell mumbled something, before grabbing the needle again, he watched him put silk into it, before speaking, "this will probably hurt more, since this is a sensitive area. try not to scream.. or moan." maxwell finished with a straight face, and wilsons' face went bright red, blotches spread across his face in realization, he turned to speak, ready to give the man an earful about how he shouldn't say such inappropriate things to a complete stranger, but he grit his teeth, grabbing onto the tents' floor, and only when wilson finished jerking   in pain from the first stitch, he realized he accidentally froze the tents' floor.

"sorry.." wilson cringed, but maxwell didn't care, unlistening as he tore the needle into his flesh, causing him to bleed again, ice-blood flushing down from his shoulder now in drops, and he was sure maxwell cringed at the amount of blood.

wilson did too, honestly, but he was even more focused on the pain.

maxwell kept on at it, though, leading the silk to close up the wound so it couldn't bleed no longer, he could feel it pass through his skin, it was so stringy..it made sense, though, he thought to himself, as maxwell was, not really, but.. almost finished? he was trying, it seemed, but the wound was hard to do, for it was on such a place that even maxwell probably couldn't do.

he might as well get lost in his thoughts, for this matter, in order to get away from the pain just for a few seconds..but what should he think about? most of the time he thought about his favorite things.. maybe he should keep at that.

his favorite song..WAS ragtime, before being transferred to the constant, but after the throne he's definitely sure, he hates that song now.

his favorite movi-

"this one is worse than the other two..yech..how did you even survive 8 hounds, anyway?" maxwell grumbled, to himself, or was he actually talking to wilson? wilson brainstormed immediately, and maxwell only stuck the needle in, but wilson, thankfully, almost didn't feel it completely, he was so glad he had such a big, fat idiotic brain for him to think with, so his thoughts steered to something else to avoid hitting a nerve again and cause him to unconsciously scream in pain.

"all done." maxwell spoke, cutting off the silk at the finish, and continuing to dab at the rest of the blood, finishing, before looking towards wilsons' face, "you can put on your shirt now." maxwell finalized, putting away the needle, silk, water and towel, and walking out.

"uhh..thank you?" wilson told him, but he was already gone.

oh, well.

**

"..hen you take a left, and then keep going up and up, and you'll find your camp! good luck!" webber cheered, "maybe i'll visit you sometime!" he said, as he waved wilson off, along with maxwell, wickerbottom, and another member..

webber, maxwell, and wickerbottom, he knew them already, but he soon learned the last ones' name, which was 'woodie'.

woodie had an axe he called 'lucy'.. it was odd, but not as odd as huge tentacles, oversized spiders, living flowers that sometimes drop LITERAL butter, humongous beehives, mosquitos the size of your head, and shadows around every corner once you're insane.

yeah..the constant was weird, loads of big things and things that didn't even make sense, some things that science couldn't even explain. wilson waved back, though, a smile spread across his face fondly, and he felt so, SO ready to go home and hug his bed to death. wilson heard each one of his footsteps make the gravel road crunch satisfyingly under his shoes, the crunch of the ground reminded him of the snow, this only surged him on, which caused him to pick up the pace, soon stopping at a 3-way path. he looked to his map, and saw the lines leading back to camp.

he can feel his bed already.

**

wilson smiled so wide once he saw the snow.

oh, how he missed home.

**

**Author's Note:**

> this is the longest thing i've ever written my god, this might be continued but fr this was hard to write- didn't wanna leave it unfinished and didn't wanna just leave it finished but in drafts either, so i'll just upload it here


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